Read Online Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III by Richard A. Knaak - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard A. Knaak
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three.
Three they might be, but they were worth three times their number even without the advantages of their weapons. Two of the creatures were pushing back the men advancing into the tunnel while the third dealt with those, like D’Marr, who had been in front of the attempted cave-in.
Still, Orril D’Marr had planned for even worse than this. It was annoying that the creatures had already wreaked such havoc, but it had not been entirely unexpected. Having hunted one Quel, he had devised ways of dealing with them . . . if his men were still capable of following commands.
“D’Roch!” He searched for the other officer and found his battered corpse half buried under the rock from the collapse. D’Roch had probably not even seen his end coming. The loss was more of an annoyance than anything else; it meant that he would have to do the work himself.
Scepter in hand, he moved closer to the battle and shouted, “Keep the lines steady! Get the nets up front!”
A quick glance at the lancers showed that they had already spread out as best they could along the length of the tunnel. His own side was in a much worse position. He had only a few lancers and one of those died, his breastplate and chest sliced open like a piece of fruit, even as D’Marr looked on. His side also had none of the nets, for the men carrying those had perished with D’Roch in the tunnel collapse. There were, however, men with torches. Most of them were using the flames much the way D’Marr planned to, but with far less results than he hoped to have. The frustrated officer grabbed one of the men in the back and pulled him close.
“You’ll die wasting your time and mine like that, you lackhead! There’s a better way! Give me that!” He hooked the rod back onto his belt and stripped the blazing torch from the soldier’s hand. With his other hand, he reached into one of the small pouches that most raiders wore on their belts. From it, D’Marr removed a tiny leather bag with a single, thin string attached to the top. It was something he had been toying with just prior to Lord D’Farany’s decision to take the three ships and flee to the western edge of the Dragonrealm. He had experimented with three just like it only recently . . . and they had performed with perfection, enabling him to scuttle the vast raider ships virtually on his own.
As he adjusted the string, he calmly told the soldier, “Tell them to retreat three steps. Quickly if you please.”
D’Marr gave the man the count of five to warn his fellows, then lit the string. It sizzled and began burning down, the flame edging closer and closer to the bag and its contents. When he was satisfied that the string had burned low enough, the Aramite let the small pouch fly.
His aim, of course, was flawless. The bag struck the Quel in the chest, then fell to the ground. D’Marr was pleased to note that the beast’s reaction was what he would have expected from a human. The armored creature paused to glance down at the insignificant object, likely both puzzled and amused by the harmless assault.
The bag promptly exploded.
It was a much smaller amount than he had used on each of the ships, but it was still enough to tear the Quel to pieces. D’Marr brought his cloak up to avoid the majority of bits that he and his men were showered with. He smiled as he saw that he had been correct; the blast had not been strong enough to further weaken the ceiling. It would have been a bit embarrassing.
To his surprise, however, there was a second benefit to his attack of genius. The remaining Quel were on their knees, their weapons forgotten and their heads almost buried in the tunnel floor. They were hooting madly and rocking back and forth, clawing at the ground.
D’Marr was not one too slow to act when good fortune came his way. “Get the nets in fast while they’re stunned. Do hurry.”
The agonized creatures were still trouble despite their present state and for a short time he was tempted
Three they might be, but they were worth three times their number even without the advantages of their weapons. Two of the creatures were pushing back the men advancing into the tunnel while the third dealt with those, like D’Marr, who had been in front of the attempted cave-in.
Still, Orril D’Marr had planned for even worse than this. It was annoying that the creatures had already wreaked such havoc, but it had not been entirely unexpected. Having hunted one Quel, he had devised ways of dealing with them . . . if his men were still capable of following commands.
“D’Roch!” He searched for the other officer and found his battered corpse half buried under the rock from the collapse. D’Roch had probably not even seen his end coming. The loss was more of an annoyance than anything else; it meant that he would have to do the work himself.
Scepter in hand, he moved closer to the battle and shouted, “Keep the lines steady! Get the nets up front!”
A quick glance at the lancers showed that they had already spread out as best they could along the length of the tunnel. His own side was in a much worse position. He had only a few lancers and one of those died, his breastplate and chest sliced open like a piece of fruit, even as D’Marr looked on. His side also had none of the nets, for the men carrying those had perished with D’Roch in the tunnel collapse. There were, however, men with torches. Most of them were using the flames much the way D’Marr planned to, but with far less results than he hoped to have. The frustrated officer grabbed one of the men in the back and pulled him close.
“You’ll die wasting your time and mine like that, you lackhead! There’s a better way! Give me that!” He hooked the rod back onto his belt and stripped the blazing torch from the soldier’s hand. With his other hand, he reached into one of the small pouches that most raiders wore on their belts. From it, D’Marr removed a tiny leather bag with a single, thin string attached to the top. It was something he had been toying with just prior to Lord D’Farany’s decision to take the three ships and flee to the western edge of the Dragonrealm. He had experimented with three just like it only recently . . . and they had performed with perfection, enabling him to scuttle the vast raider ships virtually on his own.
As he adjusted the string, he calmly told the soldier, “Tell them to retreat three steps. Quickly if you please.”
D’Marr gave the man the count of five to warn his fellows, then lit the string. It sizzled and began burning down, the flame edging closer and closer to the bag and its contents. When he was satisfied that the string had burned low enough, the Aramite let the small pouch fly.
His aim, of course, was flawless. The bag struck the Quel in the chest, then fell to the ground. D’Marr was pleased to note that the beast’s reaction was what he would have expected from a human. The armored creature paused to glance down at the insignificant object, likely both puzzled and amused by the harmless assault.
The bag promptly exploded.
It was a much smaller amount than he had used on each of the ships, but it was still enough to tear the Quel to pieces. D’Marr brought his cloak up to avoid the majority of bits that he and his men were showered with. He smiled as he saw that he had been correct; the blast had not been strong enough to further weaken the ceiling. It would have been a bit embarrassing.
To his surprise, however, there was a second benefit to his attack of genius. The remaining Quel were on their knees, their weapons forgotten and their heads almost buried in the tunnel floor. They were hooting madly and rocking back and forth, clawing at the ground.
D’Marr was not one too slow to act when good fortune came his way. “Get the nets in fast while they’re stunned. Do hurry.”
The agonized creatures were still trouble despite their present state and for a short time he was tempted
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